


Wager

by bananabog



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7458100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananabog/pseuds/bananabog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason it was called the Cursed Sword. </p><p>Originally posted on LJ, 2006-06-10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wager

**Author's Note:**

> 2006 AN: Because Wadou keeps hogging all the attention and Kitetsu was just begging for a spotlight... well not really. It's all sort of really random. Based off the prompt of "Bones".
> 
> Also, blood. Lots of blood. 
> 
> Written for kotszok on LJ.

He was serving Nami-swan and Robin-chwan his delightful rose barley drinks of love when he heard the heavy clatter of a sword skidding across the deck.  
  
All of them knew Zoro never dropped his swords. So that meant either Luffy or Usopp or both had somehow managed to sneak off with the swordsman's metal while he was dozing off, and dropping it meant Zoro would have come instantly awake and would be vigorously checking the blades for signs of damage while the two boys suffered from massive cranial trauma in the background, not knowing what had hit them or when.  
  
But there were no roars of outrage, no Luffy or Usopp-ish screams of terror, no resulting fight going on at deck level. Sanji's brow wrinkled, frowning even more at the sound of swords being sheathed, at heavy boots clomping across the deck and up the stairs to the galley. The door squeaked as it was clumsily shoved open and groaned slowly shut.  
  
The girls had noticed, but the three of them merely exchanged glances, shrugged their shoulders in sync, and swiftly resumed the conversation prior. Zoro could take care of himself, and besides, Sanji reasoned, he didn't give a shit about the Marimo anyway.  
  


_x x x x x x x x x x_

  
  
He changed his mind a few minutes later, when he stepped back into the galley to wash up and found himself following a trail to a blood house instead. No, he _did_ give a shit about the asshole. He was going to take off his tie, loop it around the idiot's neck, and throttle him while his fingers found the cleaver, recently sharpened, and he was going to take the blade to that idiot's balls. Then he'd stomp on his toes just for spite and make the idiot jerk up into the blade so it wasn't _all_ Sanji's fault he got himself castrated. Then he'd sit at the table and smoke and laugh while Zoro rolled around on the floor in agony, clutching at his missing man-bits.  
  
He'd fucking _told_ the bastard _never. To. Get. Blood. In. His. Galley._ Nevermind the fact that Sanji'd be contributing to the mess soon enough. How the hell he managed to bleed so much and get it everywhere was another matter. It should have been a cause for concern, but Zoro was known for bleeding too much and doing stupid things that donated to bleeding even more, and surviving after it, so the cook wasn’t too _terribly_ concerned about anything other than the best way to kill the swordsman.  
  
He stalked towards the figure hunched over the sink, eyes dark, back stiffened, making enough noise to warn the man so he would be prepared for a proper fight when he spun the shithead around. Wanted him to feel the amount of rage and hell he was in for.  
  
The water was running a strong, steady stream, making loud splashing and trickling sounds as they hit flesh before tumbling down into the metal crevice below, swirling noisily down the drain. Sanji’s anger rose considerably. He was wasting their precious supply of fresh water, too, and they were at least a good three weeks from port. He’d better have a good reason for why he was bleeding everywhere and being a bigger dick than he normally was.  
  
He gripped Zoro’s shoulder hard enough to break bone, if the idiot wasn’t made out of titanium or some other freakishly strong alloy, spun him around, and staggered back in horror, eyes wide. “What the fuck, Zoro?!”  
  
Because half of the man’s left forearm was gone – it was like how he prepared the meat for eating at dinner – a clean, diagonal slash to the tender flesh, slanted at an angle so it took off more than skin and epidermal tissue, slicing straight through muscle mass and underlying blood vessels and capillaries, carving straight through to the bone. And it was white he found himself staring at – white like the glare of the sun, a blindingly bright island in the midst of sea so red it was black.  
  
He hadn’t expected this. He supposed the idiot got himself a little roughed up, an accidental cut to the finger or leg, careless nicks – even if that in itself was impossible considering Zoro’s expertise with the sword. But there was a fucking. Slab of meat. _Gone_. From Zoro’s arm.  
  
Zoro’s gaze was wavering, his face pale, paler than Sanji’d ever seen, paler than when he’d seen the swordsman after he was done fighting Mr. 1 back in Alabasta. He looked like a corpse.  
  
“The cursed sword,” was all that was offered as an explanation, and everything fell, with impact heavy enough to shatter, into place.  
  
Zoro’s legs gave way.  
  
Sanji didn’t know how they both ended up on the galley floor, with the swordsman cradled in his arms, the jolt from the impact sending a long, thin toss of blood across the kitchen cabinets. Zoro’s body was cold, too damn fucking cold, and this close he could see that the man’s lips were tinged blue, a painful contrast to the vivid crimson that was everywhere else, filling his eyes, his nose with the scent of fresh death, pulse ticking weakly but rapidly under his fingers.  
  
“Oh, god.” It was all he could say as he stared at the man lying trembling in his arms – how long had the idiot been bleeding for?  
  
The roar of the running tap jerked him back to consciousness, and his mind was spinning, pulling pieces of information left and right, fitting everything rapidly into place. So Zoro had been training, as usual. Sandai Kitetsu must have slipped from his grasp, somehow, and for some reason he hadn’t been able to avoid the blow or reclaim his grip on the sword’s hilt, and it’d sliced his arm.  
  
The sword must have dropped, just the way they’d heard it earlier, hitting the deck with a victorious clang before skidding, rolling away. Zoro must have grabbed it up anyway, always mindful of his weapons and the respect and care they should be treated with, stumped his way into the galley, shoving it open with a shoulder before staggering inside.  
  
There were bloody hand prints all along the drawers, the counter, the cupboards, the table, where he could almost see the swordsman rummaging blindly with one arm through the cupboards for something, anything to stop the bleeding – Zoro’d seen him store Chopper’s extra medical supplies in the cabinets – before fumbling over to the sink and turning on the water; why Zoro did that he had no idea, because the running water must have stolen at least another liter from his body – blood loss must have fouled up his brains even more –  
  
“The fuck didn’t you find Chopper for this?!” Sanji roared, suddenly angry and he’d never been so completely at a loss for what to do – Zoro’s never shown signs of weakness before, not when it comes to his strength. Not even when that Hawk Eyes bastard cut him in half.  
  
The swordsman was down, out of action, from a mere flesh wound.  
  
“You’ve been through worse, you stupid bastard! Don’t you fucking dare – shit – stupid moron – _Chopper_!!” and the last word was almost a scream, so loud it felt he must have burst his throat, but he kept yelling until the galley door slammed open, and Usopp and Luffy and _Chopper_ , he’d never felt so relieved, Chopper came through the door, and Nami came screaming at all of them to _calm down_ and _get Zoro to my room_ and that _the idiot will be fine_.  
  
Zoro had already fallen unconscious by then, but he never once loosened the grip he had on all three swords by his side as the boys carried him down to Nami’s room, Chopper shrieking frantically at his side.  
  


_x x x x x x x x x x_

  
  
“You know,” Sanji said, much, much later, “this would be one of the best stories to go down in history, ever. ‘Greatest Swordsman Shaves Off Own Arm During Training’. Yeah, they’d never hear the end of it. Inspiration for the younger kids with a healthy obsession with self-mutilation and violence for years to come.”  
  
Zoro snorted and rolled his eyes at that, but the hint of a real smile around his lips stayed.  
  
He was lying on his back, feet propped up at an angle in Nami’s bed; Usopp had fixed a sort of stand that would keep his injured arm – dressed so thickly in bandages that it looked like another life form growing there altogether – elevated while he recovered. He’d switch to using a sling after a few days or so, depending on his speed of recovery, but until then, Chopper had ordered him not to move.  
  
It’d been shock, Chopper had explained earlier after the danger was over, after the long procedure of reattaching the missing piece of flesh back to his arm was done. It wasn’t so much of blood loss – his condition hadn’t been that fatal, yet. But the sudden loss was enough to give his body warning signals, direct the remaining blood in him to more vital organs, like the kidneys and heart and brain, instead of the entire body. It explained why he’d felt so cold, why his pulse had been so frighteningly weak earlier on. But Zoro was fine, he had his arm back, and he’d be up and about trailing blood everywhere like the annoying bastard he always was in a couple of days’ time.  
  
“So, back to the question. Why the hell didn’t you get Chopper to help the first time?” Sanji glared at him, the familiar irritancy creeping back now that he knew the man wasn’t going to keel over, “You nearly lost your arm, you idiot. The whole side of it, gone, and your best idea is to do a paint job in the galley and wash out whatever’s left. Don’t think I’m letting you off cleaning up the shit you made in there; once you’re well enough to start swinging weights around again, you’re taking over my washing duties for a month.”  
  
Zoro’s eyes bulged. “A month?!”  
  
“A _month_. You bled all over the damn area – too unhygienic, and there wasn’t enough time to wash it out and sterilize the area – we’re having barbeque for dinner out on the aft. The galley isn’t going to stop smelling like blood for weeks.” Sanji flicked out a cigarette, remembered he was in Nami-san’s room, and stuck it between his lips without lighting it, before returning the pack to his breast pocket. “I _work_ there, you inconsiderate moron.”  
  
“Thought you would have gotten accustomed to the smell, seeing as you chop up some innocent goat or chicken or lamb in there everyday – “  
  
“Those are already dead when I purchase them from the market. Nothing bleeds in there except for your stupid ass and maybe some badly prepared raw food the hawkers didn’t bother cleaning out properly.” He stopped. “And answer my question, dammit! Stop going round the fucking bush.”  
  
The swordsman raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t give me a chance to respond.”  
  
“Yes, I _di_ …”  
  
“…”  
  
“ …Fine. Answer it.” Sanji shut his mouth, huffing, and folded his arms, crossed his legs where he was seated at the dresser, leaning back against the desk.  
  
Zoro exhaled, slowly. “Don’t see why it matters to you.”  
  
“It doesn’t. But I’m stuck monitoring you while the rest are enjoying dinner upstairs, and until Usopp swaps with me to bring you your food, I can’t kick your shitty face in to relieve my boredom. So. Talk to me. Or is maintaining actual conversation too hard a challenge for that brain of yours?”  
  
Zoro scowled at the familiar jibe at his intelligence, but after a while he closed his eyes, reopened them to stare at the ceiling. “…it’s not something I should have approached him about.”  
  
“Chopper’s the _ship’s_ doctor. It’s his job, and you’re not letting him do it properly.”  
  
“I don’t know.” Zoro sounded either bored or resigned or about to fade off into sleep – the anesthetics the reindeer administered earlier must have been beginning to kick in. “I guess it’s like… um… that ocean of yours. It’s yours to find, not any of us.”  
  
The man wasn’t making sense.  
  
“When I bought these swords,” Zoro continued, not looking at Sanji, and his eyes didn’t flicker to where the three blades had since been removed from his haramaki, propped up against the wall, “when I bought Kitetsu… there was… a pact.”  
  
“A pact.”  
  
“Of sorts. I don’t know how to say it. The old man said it was cursed, and I took a gamble. Tossed it into the air and waited to see if it would take my arm.”  
  
“…you’re either really stupid or really crazy – “  
  
“Yeah, well.” Zoro shifted in the bed, winced when he jarred his left arm a little. “It didn’t, then. And all this while it’s been… a good sword. Too good of a blade. I guess I allowed myself to fall into that… that false security.”  
  
“Like taking it for granted,” Sanji said. They’ve all gone there before, that little sanctuary where everything felt like nothing could go wrong, and they’ve had to remind themselves to get up and move on, to return to that peaceful spot only after they’ve finished accomplishing something.  
  
It’s a little haven, but even havens can get attacked if the people don’t maintain a constant vigil of their surroundings, don’t keep moving on so they don’t get found.  
  
Zoro made a weird, exhaling noise through his nose. “Today was a reminder,” he said, and the conversation ended there. The swordsman was never one for words, anyway, but it was enough for Sanji to understand.  
  
Zoro owed his swords his life, they owed him theirs; whatever happened between them was theirs and no one else had any say in the matter.  
  
The hatch to Nami’s room swung open then, and it wasn’t Usopp, but Luffy who bounced down the stairs, several sticks of kebab in his mouth and near empty plates in both hands. “Yo, Shorro,” the rubber captain greeted around the food in his mouth, grinning, and he plopped down beside the bed to settle the plate on the swordsman’s stomach. “I gogh foo for you!”  
  
Sanji made his way from the room without another word, hands in his pockets, Luffy’s excited voice and Zoro’s snapping at his eating all the share of the food wafting up warm and comforting, like the sounds of laughter and the crackle of fire above him. He lit his cigarette only after the hatch to Nami’s room had fallen closed.  
  
“Swords don’t control the swordsman, dumbass,” he muttered, and made his way across to the others.


End file.
